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When his fingers clamped around it, he sighed with relief.
He pulled out the box, then crumpled onto the floor, crying as the box lay between his crossed legs. Finally, he recovered and rose. Carrying the box, he went back to his office. The DVD from the stranger was already next to his player. He wanted to see one of her other videos first.
He opened the box with reverence. Inside the box, two dozen videos were neatly arranged, each one marked in his wife’s precise handwriting. They were in order by date, and each one was labeled with the pet name of one of her lovers. A smile played at his lips as he remembered the good old days, before she’d stopped sharing, when they’d watch the videos together.
Now she did it without sharing it with him. He didn’t deserve it anymore, she told him. He hadn’t deserved it for years. He recognized some of the pet names from the older dates, and for a moment, he contemplated watching one of those—just for old times’ sake—but then he changed his mind and grabbed the newest one. The date was mid-February, and the pet name was Fat Cat. He had no idea who that might be. He placed the DVD into the player and started it.
One of his regulars, a trucker by the name of Bronson Smith, was lining his cock up with his wife’s pink ass. His fat belly pushed his cock down and he had to hold it up, and each time he did, he let go of his cock, which fell down and failed to penetrate his wife.
“Goddamn, Bronson—do you need a fucking cock brace?” his wife yelled.
“Sorry, Florence,” Bronson whined. “Maybe if you were on your back.”
Sam was growing tired of this. The m
an was a terrible fuck. He felt sorry for his wife. The man didn’t even spank her or anything. It was pathetic. Even he could spank her, if she’d let him. He fast-forwarded through the video.
At the end of the tape, Florence had given up on Bronson—who jacked himself off while she masturbated and called him a pathetic loser. At least she had a chance to express herself, Sam thought sadly as he ejected the tape.
Taking a deep breath, he loaded the DVD left on his porch.
Another scene, a different place—a log cabin. The new man’s body was not fat and not pathetic. He was a worthy fuck for his wife. In her honor, Sam made a last-ditch effort to feel again. As snot poured out of his nose, mixing with the tears, he pulled his trousers down over his shaking legs. He let them pool about his ankles as the man with the worthy body bent down so Sam could see his face. Only he couldn’t see who it was, because the man’s whole head was completely covered.
Florence lay on the bed, on her knees, her arms tied behind her back. She turned her head towards the camera, and Sam’s heart almost burst. Even though she was blindfolded, the look on her face was a study in painful bliss as the hung man with the full face mask pounded her precious ass.
“You like that?” the man said as the horse whip came down on her back. Sam flinched as his wife cried out in her orgasm.
“Yes! Whip me harder.”
For the first time in years, Sam’s cock stirred to life. He let his hands drop down and tried to make himself grow, for her sake, for Florence. But his member was soon soft. When he looked up again, the man had pulled out and was untying her hands. Her body heaved and she licked her lips hungrily as stretched her arms over her head and secured her cuffed wrists to hooks on the bed post.
“Now I’m going to whip your cunt until it bleeds.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling as she jerked her lower body in anticipation.
But the guy didn’t start—he disappeared for a moment. He knew what was coming next. He couldn’t watch.
He walked out of the office, bottomless, and shuffled uncaring back into the bar. Behind him, his wife’s cries of bliss became more and more screams for the man to stop. But he wasn’t stopping. Sam knew that only one thing would make him stop.
He tried not to think about it, as he gathered up some unbroken plastic vodka and gin bottles off the floor. Tears ran down his face as he poured the contents into a plastic trash can. He hadn’t had a drink in thirty-five years, but it didn’t matter anymore. Saving the last bit of one of the bottles, he made a toast. “To you, Florence,” he said, then gulped it down.
In the other room, he heard one terrified scream, and then a shot. He had known that was coming. And then Florence stopped screaming; she made no sounds at all.
Wiping away some snot, Sam went about his business. He found a box of matches and struggled to light one. Taking some pieces of newspaper, he finally lit one ablaze. He dropped it into the bin of alcohol, and it lit up like a flambé.
Under the counter, he found the most expensive whiskey he had, the one he’d saved in case he ever decided to take up drinking again. He poured himself a shot and drank it down. It was smooth and steadied his nerves. But still he was afraid. He poured himself several more until he feared he had to stop, or he’d lose his motor skills. It was now or never. He kicked over the burning bin of fire, and the flames quickly lit up chairs and caught on a tablecloth.
He didn’t want to burn to death. But he wanted to die.
Finally, he was ready. He pulled the gun from under the cash register and placed it in his mouth.
He pulled the trigger.
Sam’s last thought before he died made him feel happy for the first time in years. Before the bullet ripped through his head and out of the back—he had a vision. Florence being spanked by angels, smiling down at him from heaven, thanking him.
Chapter Twenty Seven
After getting off the shuttle at the entrance to a beachside Amusement Park, Holly sat on a bench and tried not to cry. She was exhausted, and stressed to the gills. Over the last 24 hours, she’d had so many ups and downs, she wasn’t sure how much more her body could take. First, she got the call, an anonymous tip left on her voicemail. A women’s voice telling her that “her friend is fine, she’s at the Hotel Flynn in Atlantic City.” Overjoyed at the news, Holly had immediately Googled the hotel and called the number. She got reservations and it took a while to get routed to the front desk and when she did – they told her that there was no one registered under that name.
